iLet It Slide
by James Austin Valiant
Summary: Freddie couldn't respond to Sam's kiss...and he still hasn't. What will happen when they finally confront each other? Chapter Eight is up!
1. iLet It Slide

**_Disclaimer: I do not own iCarly. My girlfriend thinks it's lame I'm writing iCarly fanfiction, but I disagree. There has to be the male influence in this genre that's overflowing with girl writers._**

**_This is my first stab at things like this, so leave a review please and let me know how I did. Sometimes I have trouble keeping people in character, so whatever advice you can offer, I appreciate. Also, let me know if I should continue. I'd be happy to if it's wanted. Read on, Mighty Seddie Warriors!_**

**iLet It Slide**  
><strong>By: James Austin Valiant<strong>

"In five..."

Why hadn't we talked about it?

"...four..."

I could've held her there, confronted her out right.

"...three..."

It was easier to pretend that nothing had happened, to just let her brush by me and finish the night. We had been among the small group of students that hadn't fallen asleep, but I'd practically tiptoed around her the whole night. I was too...too scared? Nervous? I made sure my camera was steady; somehow, being on the production end of things managed to make me feel more secure.

"...two."

And we had managed. We'd finished the Pearpod app, with Brad's help. Carly hadn't pressed the issue of Sam's Moodface reading, and our intern remained oblivious, thinking it was still a technical error. Sam and I had managed to retain a normal sense of...well, at least when...

That's a lie. Nothing is normal anymore. I motioned for one.

"I'm Carly!"

"And I'm Sam!"

"And if you clicked her looking for the latest wombat ballet fix, well-"

"We've done better with jazz-stepping bandicoots, because this is iCarly!"

I couldn't help but smirk at that line. It was appropriate sometimes to prepare and rehearse for the show, but Carly and Sam came up with these things on the fly, spouting whatever random nonsense happened to pop in their heads. Sometimes, I got so into what was happening, being caught up in part of the show, that I'd forget what came next and someone would have to prompt me to head to the laptop to push the right button.

But it wasn't that, not this time. A whole week had passed, and I hadn't talked to Sam. Not seriously, anyway...but what was I supposed to say? 'Hey Sam, why did you kiss me?' Or maybe 'Hey Sam, are you in love with me?'

I watched her spin around simultaneously with Carly, putting the exclamation point on another joke. Everything about her was so different now...I noticed the soft waves in her hair and the way her lips puckered when she was concentrating. What was even better was the new way I noticed the things that were already there; the countless string of nicknames she had for me, the way her presence just stormed int-

"Hey!"

I snapped out of my thought process just long enough to duck Sam's swipe.

"Cue up the video of the llama rodeo, Freditron."

I nodded to Brad. "You heard the blonde."

Our intern fumbled a bit; he knew what to do, but we'd never called him to do it on the spot when we were live. Luckily, the screen swung out without a hitch, and the llama rodeo video began without a hitch. I zoomed out to catch Carly and Sam's reaction to one of our weirder submissions; I swear they were ready to start rolling on the floor.

"Who knew you could make a llama move that fast with just a pineapple?" Sam could barely get the words out.

"As long as that pineapple wasn't mineapple!" Carly joked.

Sam gritted her teeth. "Yuckkk. No, not even close."

I smiled at Sam's appraisal of Carly's joke. As they went on, I realized that was one of the parts I missed most: Sam's company. We had started off so at odds with each other, but the years passed and now I thought nothing of hanging out with Sam and clicking around the videos on Splashface, or grabbing a smoothie or just sitting around and doing nothing. Before she kissed me, before it got to this weird point, I legit looked forward to those things. Now, I barely saw her unless Carly was around.

I kept the camera steady again as Carly and Sam began dressing up for one of their skits - Her Mother Henry Who Put Spoiled Goats Milk In Her Daughter's Cappuccino. I didn't want this to be it - I didn't want the only time I got to see same was a passing nod in the hallway, or in front of the camera with Carly. I wanted her to be my friend again, to be that same cool and awesome person who I even enjoyed being tortured by. She didn't even do that anymore.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket, covertly typing in a text while the girls put on fake beards and set up a breakfast table. _Hey Puckett..._I started, but reconsidered, clicking the back button on my PearPhone. _Sam - I'm sick of the silence. I want to talk to you please. _

Sam kept her phone silent and in her bag whenever we filmed, so I'd have to wait to hear back from her. But that was the point; I wanted to hear back from her. I sighed softly and pressed 'Send'.


	2. iSpy Pie

_**Disclaimer: I do not own iCarly. I just got back from AnimeBoston, where I portrayed a stellar Grandpa Rome. I simply cannot believe I am writing fanfiction for this fandom, save for the fact I love it so much. Schneider and crew are simply amazing in that trrend of keeping it "Funny, But Clean, And Not Annoying PG". **_

_**I do ask that if you read, please leave a review. And always, always feel welcome to PM me comments, ideas and suggestions. I love you all. Rock on, you Mighty Seddie Warriors!**_

**iSpy Pie  
>By: James Austin Valiant <strong>

You don't know why you do the things you do.

I've never really known. I've always been a "Do It Now, Ask Questions Later" kinda girl. Look before you leap, then sort it all out.

That is, of course, if you can't run fast enough to let someone else do the sorting.

I had, over the course of my awesome existence, run from just about every single type of person you can imagine. After my mom got sick of it, I'd run from coaches, zoo keepers, teachers, orderlies, cops, concert security, mall security, Mounties, horse instructors, Gibbies, and nubs on Wegsays. I think that might have been the most intense chase I'd ever had...tell a bunch of morons they look ridiculous riding on their two-wheeled joystick machines. The nub and his band had almost clipped me right off the sidewalk; they deserved me tripping them up.

I clicked around on the Shay's computer as Carly cut us some pie. I had solidly been craving pie since the lock-in before the lock-in ended, and finally a key lime masterpiece had made its way to the fridge.

Carly set down a large slice of heaven in front of me, and I hurriedly jammed a forkful in my mouth.

"Sooo goooood..."

My best friend smirked. "You ever notice how there's always one person obsessed with food?"

"Huh?" I asked, savoring a second bite.

"On TV and stuff, there's always one character who is totally preoccupied with food. It's like, everyone else on the show has these normal appetites and cravings, but there's one of them who just loves food."

I stroked an imaginary beard. "That is weird! It even starts with little kids' shows, like on Sesame Street with Cookie Monster..."

"And then there's Joey on Friends..."

"And Steve on Full House...

"And Sam on iCarly."

I stopped on my fifth, and last, forkful of pie. "Are you saying I'm just some sort of lame television character?"

"No," Carly twirled her fork around her untouched pastry, "I'm just saying it's weird. It's like television takes these itty, bitty little things about people and blows them completely out of proportion."

"I know," I snuck a piece of crust from Carly's plate. "Good show today, by the way."

"Sam! You know I like the crust!"

"Momma knows. Momma likes it, too."

Carly grabbed my plate, turning around to cut me another piece of pastry heaven. "Is that all Momma likes?"

I scoffed. "Of course not. Momma likes ham, pepperoni, lemon pie, fried chicken..."

"...a certain nub who's constantly attached to the camera?" Carly finished for me, setting down the overflowing plate in front of me.

I paused. I could tell by the tone in her voice, she knew exactly what had happened, and had noticed the uncomfortable silence between the dork and I. We tried to keep it as normal as possible in front of her, but neither of us had spoken about it. Or had he? Maybe he had told her everything. Of course he did! The nub stood only to gain from confiding in her, while I stood to lose everything. It wasn't easy getting Carly to trust me again; if she lost faith in me again, it might never come back.

"Carls..." I placed my fork down, and looked her dead in the eye. "...I'm not sure."

"What? How could you not be sure? I saw you kiss him!" She ranted.

"You were spying on us? How could you?"

"Because apparently every time I turn my back, you two are kissing! It's not just that, either...Spencer tells me that sometimes he sees the two of you at the Groovy Smoothie together, and that you're even here, at my apartment, without me, on days we don't have iCarly or rehearsal. Then the Pear Pad says you're in love, and I was so happy for you, Sam. I was so ridiculously happy that you were in love! LOVE, Sam. Not just silly high school like, or like like."

I shook my head. "It's some serious chiz."

"Shoosh yeah, it is! Now all I see is you and Freddie, putting on these pretend faces around, like everything is fine."

I got up from my chair and made my way to the couch. "I think I need to sleep that pie off."

"This is serious, Sam, " Carly grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. She didn't usually get physical with me. "You need to talk to him about this."

"But I haven't decide-"

"You decided when you kissed him! Talk to him, at the very least...he's still up in that studio. Don't do it for iCarly, or me, or him...just do it for you. I meant what I said to you last week, Sam. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to have a nice boyfriend."

I flopped down on the couch, and Carly retreated to the kitchen. She'd made her point, and the nub was still upstairs, making adjustments to one doodad or the other. I opened my backpack next to me and pulled out my phone; I always shut it off when we're filming iCarly; maybe I had some e-mail coupons for Ribby's House of Ribs.

I flipped it open. One new message from Fredasaurus.

_Sam - I'm sick of the silence. I want to talk to you please. _

I glanced back at Carly, who was busying herself with homework. Better now than never, Puckett. With all the grace of ninja, I stood up, vaulted myself over the back of the couch, and made my way upstairs to the studio.


	3. iDon't Need That Spoon

**_Disclaimer: DVR starts the day being full of iCarly, ends the day without it. I've officially watched iOMG wayyy too many times, and hope that my obsession dies down soon. Just a wee bit. I'd like nothing more than to be able to forget about Seddie until July or August or whenever Schneider grants us that follow-up to one of the most intense cliffhangers ever..._**

**_P.S. Don't you think Gibby could totally host a revival of All That?  
><em>**

**_I don't own iCarly. I'm in it for the lulz. And cuz iCarly has the same sort of sense of humor that I do: random and sometimes really gross. ("Is that BBQ sauce?" "No, it's Sam's blood.")_**

**iDon't Need That Spoon  
>By: James Austin Valiant <strong>

****"Hey kiddo!" Spencer burst in through the door, carrying a clattering bag of something metal.

"Hey Spence, where ya been?" I took a bite of my key lime pie, finally noticing that Sam had gone upstairs. How did she manage to do that? She usually sounds like two entire horse races colliding with an avalanche.

"Oh you know, paying the bills, making sure Lewbert lets in that plumber I hired to come look at the toilet, all those adult sorta things." Spencer tossed his bags aside carelessly and strode into the kitchen.

"What do we need the plumber for?"

Spencer scoffed as he grabbed a W9 from the fridge and started chugging it. "That way we won't need the wooden spoon in the bathroom to break up the poops before we flush."

"Spencer!' I eyed him. "Girls don't poop!"

He rolled his eyes at me, half cocking his head. "Come on, Carly Shay, don't feed me that line. I mean, I think we both know your friend Sam is the whole reason we need that wooden spoon in there in the first place..."

"Major yuckers! Ew! I don't wanna talk about that!" I protested, taking my pie over to the computer.

"Yeah...hey, let me get to my e-mail for a sec, someone wanted to buy my cork butterfly sculpture." He came over, readying himself to strike for the mouse.

"You can check your e-mail on your phone, ya know," I said, clicking around the iCarly website, and following a link to our kiwi pages.

"Huhh, oh yeah...Socko was showing me how to do that earlier, I'll see if I can remember how to do it," He took another swig of his W9 vegetable juice, leaning against the kitchen counter. Spencer then flipped open his phone, playing around with buttons, trying to access his e-mail.

"Spence?"

"Hmmyeah?" He said, his concentration still on his phone.

"Do you...did you ever...have you..."

"Umbiddy babapapaw?" He said back at me, trying to get me to smile instead of stammer.

"Have you ever had two friends who wanted to date each other and you weren't sure how you felt about it?" I asked. There, it was out there.

Spencer didn't even look up from his phone. "Sam and Freddie smooching again, huh?"

"Oh come on! How could you know that?" I was a little heated.

He slid his phone back into his pocket and approached me, leaning over the counter. "Are you serious, Carly?"

"Well, I mean, I always thought that because of the way Sam treated Fr-" I started.

"Ah, ah ah! That's it, right there. I think someone suggested this before, but I'll let you in on a little secret: sometimes, when a girl rags on a guy constantly, she's hiding feelings from him. And you must've noticed how things have changed between those two overs the years...there was a time you couldn't keep them in the same room as each other. But now? They hang out, talk and text, and grab smoothies without you...do you ever see that look in Sam's eyes?"

I blinked, slightly confused.

Spencer grabbed his W9 juice and stared at it longingly. "It's like, when she doesn't think the rest of us are looking, she shoots Freddie this look. It just happens so fast...it's this steady, puts-holes-in-kevlar look that a princess might give a prince at the end of harrowing fairy tale. It's impressive, really; I've only caught it myself once or twice."

I chuckled to myself. Had I seen that look before? Had I ignored because I wanted to believe that, no matter how bad things seemed for me, that Freddie would always be into me? Or was I foolish for thinking that?

"But I thought that Freddie was int-"

"Into you?" Spencer cutting me off was getting really annoying. "In a way, I think he always will be. But come, kiddo, let's be serious; he was never gonna be the one for you. And I'm not saying that because I don't like him, I'm saying that because," He flipped my nose, "you're my sister and I know."

I sighed. Spencer was kinda right. I loved Freddie, but I never really fell in love with him. I spent a lot of nights wondering if it would ever click for me, that I would realize that the only guy for me was right across the hall, and had been. But even when I tried to make it happen - like when he saved my life - it felt forced and unnatural. Maybe that was my heart's way of telling me it just wasn't going to happen. But did that mean I didn't want him?

"They're upstairs right now." I explained to my brother, going back to clicking around the iCarly kiwi pages. Some of these people posting on here were ridiculous. They paid attention to colors, numbers and offhanded glances and comments like we were following some sort of meticulous script, especially the Creddie and Seddie pages.

Seddie? Was that what was going on up there? I desperately wanted to make my way up there, congratulate them, help them sort it out.

"I don't want them to leave me!" I whined, face planting on the counter.

"Sam and Freddie are cool beans, kiddo; when they work this out, they'll be thinking of you. 'What they have is infancy - what you have with them is a lifetime'." Spencer quoted.

I raised my head, smiling a bit. "Thanks, that actually kinda makes me feel better."

"I got it out of a fortune cookie." Spencer beamed.

I opened my mouth to answer him, but the sound of two horse races colliding with an avalanches interrupted me this time, and I turned around just in time to see Sam at the bottom of the stairs. She scrambled for her backpack, and started for the front door.

"Sam wait!" I ran towards her, "what happened?"

"I can't talk now, Carls, I gotta run," She raced for door, slamming it behind her.

"Well?" Spencer asked.

A deep, dark part of me wanted to tell him she looked hurt, angry, sad; that I saw faint tears in her eyes; that the anguish she expressed to me was one beyond the most severe type of grief anyone could ever have. But that would've been wrong, and a lie. I shook my head; now was not the time to start being jealous.

"She was happier than I've ever seen her."


	4. iCube Zucchini Bread

**_Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly, but I'm currently trying to use my power as a Lord of Sealand to manuever myself for a guest starring role._**

**_People, I feel as though a lot of authors use this space to ask you guys questions and the like, so here's one: who else here is constantly reading Seddie fanfiction? I know I am, and there's a lot of good ones out there (WARNING: there's also a lot of bad ones.) I don't intend for what I'm doing here to be seen as the epic, end-all-be-all of Seddie fanfiction; what I'm trying to do is really keep the humor and comedy aspect of iCarly intact, while adding some heavy Seddie overtones. My Seddie Fic Pic to share with you is Uneven, by shannonann. Go check it out, and leave her a review. She's just awesome._**

**_Also, was no one disgusted by the fact Spencer shares in the last chapter? Yuckkk._**

**_Barring any further ramblings from my exhausted self, heres the next part of iLet It Slide. Please read and review on anything! _**

**iCube Zucchini Bread  
>By: James Austin Valiant <strong>

I breathed deep and reached for the door handle. The nub had never managed to get to me before, so why should I let it start now?

I strolled into the room, being as casual as possible. He was sitting on the purple beanbag, eyes fixed on his laptop screen. His hand kept going from his mouth to bag of cubed zucchini bread, and I had to stifle a laugh. Mrs. Benson thought Freddie needed all his food specially prepared, from his fruit sauce to his extra mashed mashed potatoes to his cubed bread...how did the dork manage to deal with real people food?

I grabbed a magazine and flopped down on the orange beanbag. Freddie had clearly seen me come in, and obviously noticed me flop down next to him. I flipped through a few pages of the kung fu magazine, stopping to envision myself wielding any number of the awesome weapons in the ads. I tried to be as coy as possible looking back over at Fredlumps - he was still engrossed in his laptop screen.

Of course he was, the nub was using his specially ordered, PearPod noise canceling earbuds. I watched him stare intently at the computer screen, bringing another bite of zucchini bread to his lips, the same lips that I had conquered for myself just last week an-

Wow. Just wow, Puckett. Are you really proud of that? Or does it just scare you silly to know that if you screw this up, if you really truly screw this up, then it's just about over-

"SAM!" Freddie slammed his PearBook closed.

"Hey, Freddzzo. Whatcha watchin on that fancy thing?"

"Uhhh, nothin. Some old monster movies. From Japan. I mean, that, you know, are Japanese and stuff."

"Right, right. That's cool." I eyed him suspiciously. "A little too cool, if you ask me..."

"Sam..." His voice took on that familiar warning tone.

"So let's find out what's really on that screen!" I dove at him, grabbing the computer with lightning speed and holding him down with my patented hammerlock.

"Sam, please, please don't don't open that!"

I flipped open the PearBook, and the black screen clicked back to life in my hands. My jaw dropped at what I was looking at on the screen. How could Freddie...it was...it was too good for words, I think.

"Why are you watching Gilmore Girls?"

Freddie groaned, not answering me, and I realized, through my excitement, I had completely abandoned the calm and cool demeanor I'd meant to come up here with. I released the hammerlock and slumped over to my orange beanbag. What happened to playing it cool and letting me talk first? Instead I had to leap all over him...it's no wonder he likes Carly; at least she acts like a girl. All right, Puckett, just man up and it will all be over soon.

"I just...look, my mom and I don't really get into the same things. But we watched a rerun of Gilmore Girls one night and she thought it was hysterical and I agreed, because sometimes Lorelai and Rory remind me of the way you and Carly talk to each other, except not half as fast. It's just hard finding things my mom and I both enjoy, and I downloaded some episodes for her and I was just watching them to catch up on the story."

I pursed lips together, trying to make it seem like I wasn't interested in Freddie's answer or Gilmore Girls. I grabbed my kung fu magazine.

"What's happening to us, Sam?"

I stayed silent, turning to the two page shuriken blowout sale.

"Come on, you blonde demon, don't do this to me now. I just want to know what's going on here, because I, for one, am very confused."

I turned a page. "We're friends first, nummynuts."

"Ocho?"

I sighed, throwing the magazine aside and twirling a strand of soft hair around my finger. "I just mean, I want you to know that we're friends first. I wouldn't want anything to change that. Even me being stupid, okay?"

"How did you act stupid?" I hate when he did that. He knew the answer to that question, yet insisted on asking it anyways.

"When I kissed you. That was stupid." I shifted uncomfortably, unable to meet the steady gaze I know he had fixed on me. "And I'm sorry...again."

"...but I encouraged you to make a move. You were just responding. Why are you so sorry about it?" Why the heck was he playing devil's advocate here? Come on, Benson, this isn't like you! Why are you playing games with me?

"Because you love Carly."

The flat truth sucked all the wind of the room, and I imagined the defeated look in the dork's eyes.

"I don't love Carly."

"Since when?" I huffed.

"Sometimes a crush is just a crush. Especially after you kiss that crush a few times and realize that it just isn't there. It's kind of defeating, to figure that out. But then there's that other kind of kiss, from a certain person...someone, who, you realize over the years, has become your number one, pie in the sky, shoot for the moon, reach for the stars, hail Mary, never gonna happen because she hates me girl."

"Aww, Fredward," I cooed sarcastically, "when did you get to be such a widdle womantic?"

I turned to face him, to give him a mocking grin, and was surprised to find we were nose to nose. I know it's totally jank to notice the eyes of someone you're interested in, but it wasn't just his eyes I noticed. His nose, his lips, his hair, his face that was without a hint of stubble.

"Sam, I'm being completely honest with you right now. I've never been more confused in my life. But I know that this weird feeling, this thing we've been doing all week...I can't do that. I'm willing to take it slow."

"Take it slow?" Was this conversation real and actually happening? I pinched myself - ouch! Yeah, this was real.

"Yeah, I mean, you know," He ran his hand through his hair, showing off an impressive tricep," Like, tomorrow night, uh, like six thirty, we can just hang out, you know, like we normally do, and just, you know, chill."

"Sounds..." I really, really wanted to insult him, but the dork was just trying so hard, and it was actually kinda cute. "...sounds like a good time, Freddie."

"Yeah?" His whole face lit up, and he was grinning like an idiot. I shouldn't really be talking, I was more than ecstatic myself, and as far as I could tell, was wearing the same wide smile. "Good, we can play it by ear, see how it goes and that way, when it comes to Carly and everything..."

I closed my eyes in a silent frustration. "Right. Carly. How about this, until we're clear on exactly it is that we are, we can just share the minimum with her? No secrets, I mean, but, no need to completely spill the beans if we aren't even sure which beans are ripe for spillin'."

"Right." Freddie nodded slowly. "So..."

Shoot. That was the whole conversation I had planned. I hadn't even imagined it going so smoothly, or happening so quickly or...waitafingerlickinminute. I thought back on the conversation; had Freddie said he liked me, too? Like, from way back when?

"Freddie, I j-"

I started to ask him exactly when he had started feeling differently, but his lips were on mine. Freddie was kissing me, that little nub! It wasn't awkward or weird like that first kiss we'd shared on the fire escape, or completely out of nowhere, like that kiss I had sprung on him in the school courtyard. It was different, it felt more real, somehow. It was warm, and inviting, and when he stopped, I definitely wished he hadn't.

"Wow, Benson." I said after a few second of silence.

"Right back at ya, Puckett." He winked, and I groaned. No matter how amazing any kiss could be, there was nothing creepier than a guy who uses the wink as a flirty move.

Fred pulled his purple beanbag close to my orange one, and sat down beside me, brandishing his large baggie of cubed zucchini bread. He popped a few in his mouth, and offered the open bag to me.

"Umm...no thanks, I think I'd rather eat vomit."

"Come on, Sam, it's really good, I swear. Just try it."

"No, no and did I mention, no?" My phone went off, and I checked it quickly. Mom had been dating a manager at Chicken And Chips, and apparently, had scored five free fried chicken dinners. Three of those puppies had my name it, for sure.

"Gotta run, Fredwad...Mom's new boy toy scored us some free fried chicken, and you know that's where Momma's gotta be!" I jumped out of the beanbag and raced to the studio door.

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I hate you." He was beaming, as though bringing up that ancient memory was enough to make me grin like an idiot again.

"Hate you too!" It was, and I relished it as I bolted down the stairs.


	5. iKinda Freak Out Sorta

_**Disclaimer: I don't know if I could handle owning iCarly. Those who do, do it well. I doubt I could do better. But I wouldn't mind trying.**_

_**So...has anyone here a Creddie? Or ever been a Creddie? I gotta say, it seems like the natural fit. But I think it's the couples who take some hard work that are the real interesting ones...I know a few myself who just keep at it and keep at it and you wonder, what do you get of this? Well, reader, I figure that's what we are all here to figure out. So here's some homework for you - send a card to an enemy. I've done it, and made many an enemy into a friend.**_

**_Seddie Fic Pic? Check out cali-chan - she is just amazing, and one of the few times I've found someone on who I thought 'YOU NEED TO BE A PUBLISHED AUTHOR!' So as always, read and review and feel free to offer story direction or just remind me that I'm great. And to Ms. UnderxGravity, no, James Austin Valiant is not my real name, but you may still call me as such. And kudos to you for being the first person to think it an epic name! Read on, you Mighty Seddie Warriors!_**

**iKinda Freak Out Sorta  
>By: James Austin Valiant <strong>

__I flipped through the magazine and checked my phone. I had texted Sam twelve times about what had happened in the studio; her lack of answering meant that she was either deliberately trying to drive me insane or elbow deep in some form of fried meat. Either one was acceptable; she had been doing both as long as I'd known her. As long as she'd been my best friend.

Would she still be my best friend? Of course, of course she would. And Freddie would be, too. It would just be a little different now, that's all. They'd have their own private jokes and moments I wouldn't get, and then they'd go off and I'd either feel guilty tagging along as a third wheel or hanging out with Spencer, who is by all means awesome, but sometimes, a girl just wants her friends...

"Hey Carly, I'm done up there. Gotta get home." Freddie made his way to the door.

"Why are you two planning on leaving me?"

Freddie raised an eyebrow. "Guapo?"

"Cut it with the random Spanish!" I screeched, then took a deep breath. "Sorry, I'm sorry...I'm just a little worked up. I just...Sam came down here in a hurry and..."

Freddie nodded. "Yeah, she said something about free fried chicken dinners from Chicken and Chips."

"She loves that place, no wonder she ran out of here!" I said, sighing in relief.

My technical producer scratched his head. "Are you going to be okay, Carly?"

"Okay? Of course I'm going to be okay, it's not like I'm turning into some sort of maniac. Want some lemonade?" I started off to the kitchen, with Freddie in tow.

"Eww, no. Your lemonade tastes like Bigfoot's ripe socks."

"That means that Bigfoot must exist, huh?" I pursed my lips, getting the pitcher from the fridge.

"If Bigfoot exists, then Nug Nug and Santa Claus and El Chupacabra must be rea- hey, would that be a cool spot for iCarly? A superhero named El Chupacabra that can't help anyone because nobody believes he's real?" Freddie chuckled, and I had to join in.

"That actually wouldn't be half bad. Could you imagine Gibby doing it with one of those Alone Stranger masks?" I almost dropped the pitcher of lemonade I was holding, and I knew by that look in Freddie's eyes that he was getting more joy out of making me laugh.

"I'll send you an e-mail tonight and we can work it out some more, see if Sam has any input..." Freddie stopped short, recalling what had started this whole conversation in the first place. I turned around wordlessly and grabbed a glass from the top shelf.

I heard him take in a sharp breath, ready to explain to me what exactly was going on with two of the most important people in my life. No words came; he stayed silent, like an emotionless robot. I poured the lemonade and brought it to the table, keeping my eyes away from him the entire time.

"So are you going to say anything to me?" He asked.

"I figured you'd be the one doing the talking, Benson." I never called him by his last name; I thought it was rude, even when Sam did it. But I didn't care, I wanted to be rude, for once.

"What do you want to know?"

"Do you love her?"

"What?"

I took a sip of lemonade. "I said, do you love her?"

"I don't know. Isn't that kind of an odd question to ask right now? I mean, I know Sam but I don't know Sam like this, and this is just going to be...different and..."

I finally looked him in the eye, dead stare. That charming, nerdy, polite boy who lived next door...the one who wanted to date my devil-may-care, rambunctious blonde troublemaker of a best friend. I could see how they were attracted to each other, now that I thought about it...Sam represented breaking every rule and conformity, while Freddie was the ultimate do-gooder, walk-on-a-wire kinda guy.

He was rambling on, but I was thinking. This might not be so bad after all; Freddie might learn to let loose now and then. Seriously, I had seen his planner; he actually re-arranged things to fit in those tick baths! That reeks of a boy who should be letting his hair down and blowing off school, hitting a theme park or robbing a grocery store. Okay, well, maybe becoming a thief would be a step in the wrong direction, but a little spontaneity in Freddie's life would only serve to help him in the long run.

And Sam. Teachers ignored her on the role call; I heard them whisper her a nickname, "Never Comes To Class Puckett." Unoriginal, I know, but they're teachers *and* adults. But to be honest, I worried about Sam. I worried she might not wanted to go to college, or get a job, or really want to do anything at all. If she didn't have someone setting her right, then we might only be speaking through a double thick, bulletproof piece of glass, talking on a telephone. Freddie could get her to turn in a homework assignment on time, or come to class and actually stay awake. He was still talking, fidgeting and fumbling his words. I smiled; you should be nervous enough to wet your pants, Fredward. Samantha Puckett is one tall order of trouble.

"...so, yeah, and then...we made plans, to hang out, you know...six thirty tomorrow and...I kissed her and...that's pretty much all of it." He held his breath, waiting for her to answer.

"Just...please..." I stammered. "Please don't leave me out of the loop?"

"We talked about that, actually." This is the part that would take some getting used to. "We", "us", "our", it all still seemed unreal. "As soon as something happens, you will know about it. No secrets. No one is losing friends over this. Plain and simple."

"Good." I smiled, and sipped some lemonade. "So what are you and Sam going to do tomorrow night?"

He buried his face in his hands. "I have no flippin' clue. I was thinkin about going to the mall, but that seems so boring, so then I thought we could get some of those fried salami burgers that Sam likes, but that's all the way across town and I know anything with meat will keep her happy and occupied, and I kinda wanted it to be more special an-"

I put my hand over his mouth. This kid needed to stop talking so much.

"Don't worry, Fredward. I have an idea, and I know Sam will just love it!"


	6. iTake Sam Out

**_Disclaimer: I do not own iCarly. And neither do you. Also, they started filming the new episodes on Monday. Do you know what that means? That means iOMG might have a sequel all ready for editing and premiering, but while we struggle with the wait, we gotta turn to fanfiction. Like this fanfiction right here. From what I saw of the video Dan Schneider posted on his youtube, there seemed to be a sort of purple resturaunt scene set up. Hmmm, speculation anyone? For what it's worth, I hope there is a Seddie that lasts until the very last episode of iCarly. Don't you? Read on, you mighty Seddie Warriors...I had a lot of fun with this chapter and I hope you do, too. Please leave a review if you any comments, flames or suggestions. I love me some suggestions._**

**iTake Sam Out  
>By: James Austin Valiant<strong>

"Are you sure about this?" I hissed at Carly.

"I'm absolutely, one hundred and fifty three percent sure, Freddie. You've got to learn to trust my intuition on these things, all right?" She started smoothing my hair down. "There. Now you look better."

"Thanks."

We were standing outside Ridgeway, waiting for Sam to show up. Carly had pitched this insane idea, this completely insane and ridiculous idea that I, for some reason, had completely followed along with. It seemed like a good idea yesterday afternoon, something that both Sam and I could sink our teeth into, but now I realized the full gravity of what I agreed to. Ditching school? Calling a cab to pick us up? I had the jitters leaving my house...it was hard enough keeping the secret of being with Sam from my mom, but knowing that I played hooky? Yuck, did I just say 'playing hooky'? Did anyone under sixty still say that?

"How do you even know she'll like this? I mean, not everyone likes random surprise trips and missing school..." I started, and realized I was almost to the point of whining.

"Is Sam the type of person who dislikes those things?" Carly rolled her eyes in my direction, and I slumped a bit in obvious defeat. "Come on, Freddie, it's like you don't even know your own girlfriend..."

"!" My voice took on a low rumble. "We don't even know what we are, so please leave the 'g' and 'b' words out of this!"

"Okaysorryitwasmymistake," Carly pushed her words together, mocking me, "Where is Sam's mom? The homeroom bell is going to ring any minute now, and she's usually here right before that."

Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I shrugged it off. "Hang on, we're waiting for someone."

"Who could you and her possibly be waiting for?" Again, the tapping on my shoulder.

"We're waiting for..." Carly started, turning around to face the interrogator, "SAM!"

"That's me, in the flesh."

I turned around and saw my blonde, former arch-frenemy standing behind us. She was wearing a purple Penny-T, this one said 'FistDance', and a pair of khaki shorts. She looked the same as she always did, but for some reason, I felt she looked especially amazing today. I never really noticed the relaxed and casual way she approached everything, or the way her golden locks framed her face. Still, she was an odd sight, because Carly and I always got to school at least a half hour before Sam did.

"What are you doing here so early?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, you know, for you?"

Sam scoffed. "Pshh, you know how the cafeteria serves breakfast, right? If I don't get here early enough, all of the breakfast sausage patties are gone." She reached into her pockets, retrieving three greasy, napkin covered patties. "You want one?"

"Uh, no thanks, I'm reall-" Protesting was of no use, and soon there was a government subsidized, semi-sorta-meat product in my mouth. I chewed, and chewed, and chewed; this thing tasted like newspaper and sawdust fried in bacon grease.

"You guys better going!" Carly shoved the both of us towards the cab in front of us, snatching our backpacks from us in the process. "Hurry, hurry!"

"What? What gives? What are you two up to?" Sam shot me and Carly a confused look, but I grabbed her hand. She gave me this innocent gaze, almost like she hadn't expected me to be so forward. I squeezed her hand reassuringly and pulled her towards the waiting yellow chariot.

"Trust us, Sam," I said, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Trust me, anyways."

* * *

><p>"Benson, you have serious explaining to do!"<p>

It had been like this for the past twenty minutes. It had been nice and calm for the first few minutes, as I figured, because Sam was just floored by my completely un-Freddie like behavior, and seemed legitimately interested in where we were headed. Then the next ten had turned into the usual, with traded insults, name calling and a really, considering we were sort of an item, out of place wet willie. Now, she was just plain old angry, throwing jabs and threats at not only me, but a very frightened cab driver as well. I took a deep breath and put up with it; the payoff to all this would be huge.

"Just relax, all right crazy? I swear, we're almost there, so if you'd just stop freaking out and relax for a second..." I leaned in and kissed her softly on the cheek. She immediately turned a bit pink and reached up to run her hand through my hair.

Or so I thought. My darling Sam grabbed my ear and pulled me down close.

"Look, Fredweird, I know you and I are 'taking it slow' and trust me, I appreciate the extra effort and attention, but we have been in this cab for almost forty miles, we are no longer in Seattle, and if you think that you playing sweet is going to get you off the hook, you have seriously suffered some sort of brain damage." She snarled, and I alternated between thoughts of 'Ow! Ow! Ow!' and 'It's nice to be this close.'

"We are here, we are here, we are here!" The taxi driver proclaimed, finally able to rid himself of me and the blonde bomber who had been making this cab ride inexorably excruciating. I reached into my pocket best I could, and handed him the fare. He took it hurriedly and turned around to start shoving me. "Get out, get out of my car!"

Sam looked at this crazy man who was putting his hands on me, and I saw that familiar, animalistic look in her eye. Before I could protest, she had lunged forward, baring her teeth and snapping like a woman possessed. The pain from the bite registered with the cab driver, and he howled in distress, throwing the pile of bills back at us. She snatched them up, and pulled me out of the cab by my collar. The taxi sped off, leaving skid marks on the asphalt.

"Welcome to Port Townsend, Sam Puckett." I exclaimed, throwing my arms out for added exclamation.

"What are we doing here, Benson?"

I nodded my head and pointed up at a large banner hung over the downtown, extended between two lamp posts. "Right up there, Sam cakes...read it out loud and ask me again why we're here."

She cleared her throat. "Port Townsend's Fourth Annual International Sausage and Cased Meat Extravaganza and Street Faire..." Her words trailed off, and I saw a glassy look come over her eyes. It seemed as though, as soon of the words came out of her mouth, we finally saw the massive throngs of people crowding the downtown area. Sausages hung from booths and vendor carts, representing every nation of the world. People of every size shape and color were sampling various delights with mustard, relish and sauerkraut, and the smell of onions, peppers and delicious cured meat hung in the air.

"Momma likes?" I questioned teasingly.

"Momma loves her cased meat." She whispered, still in awe at the massive sight before her. I'd never quite seen Sam like this before; stuck in a trance, her eyes focused on every single link of sausage in the place, with an ever so slight drop of anticipatory drool collecting on her bottom lip. Her hand was suddenly on my collar again, and she began dragging me into the heart of the festival.

Some essence was compelling her to walk forward, as we shoved through the crowds, past mothers with babies in strollers and breaking up happy couple holding hands. I stopped to reflect for a second; this is exactly what I felt like being with Sam. There was some invisible force, some unbreakable bond pulling us through a mass of stereotypical and fairly unexciting people. It was almost like a roller coaster ride while wearing a blindfold, and honestly, I didn't want to take the blindfold off. I wanted to be just as surprised and excited as the first time we kissed, as confused and taken aback as the second time we kissed, and as meaningful and fulfilling as the third time we had kissed. It sounds lame, I'm sure, and if I said it to her, I'm sure I'd be teased well into the next decade for it. As my eyes followed that curly blonde hair as she almost knocked two bicyclists over, I knew everything I thought was true.

"Step right up! Step right up! Test your taste buds, show us your deductive skills! The first person to guess correctly every single sample of sausage we provide them with wins six thousand dollars worth of fine Fondi sausage and salami products! Step right up!" A rotund man with a handlebar mustache and a purple bow tie was spewing his pitch, and Sam stopped dead in her tracks.

I heard a low growl escape from her lips. "Six...thousands...dollars..."

"Sam, maybe we should check out something else first?" I coughed, hoping I could dissuade her warrior instinct. "You got that cab fare back, how about we grab a few knockwurst from the vendor-"

She growled again, pulling me through the crowd by my collar. For cheese and cracker's sake, hasn't this girl heard of holding hands? It'd be a lot easier on my neck, but that's not like I expect things to change because of a silly meat festival.

"Hey, Bow Tie! I'll take your challenge!" Sam yelled to the man, with all the famous Puckett determination she could muster.

"So, the little blonde wants to take a big boy's bet?" The mustached man laughed, and the crowd of people who had gathered around joined in with him. Only I kept a blank look on my face, and raised an eyebrow at Sam. She didn't notice; her glare was focused only on this carnival barker who, whether he'd known it or not, had insulted her personally.

She released my collar and stormed up to the stage, and forcefully sat down in the seat next to the barker. She determinedly tied the blindfold around her head, and leaned forward, grabbing his microphone before he had a chance to register what she was doing.

"Bring it on, Chubs!" I had to grin. Classic Sam, making it seem like the challenge was to trip her up on her meat identifying skills, rather then getting tripped up. I saw the barker take a sharp swallow; he was regretting taunting her, I could tell. And somehow, as I stood there, before she even started this challenge, I was proud of her. Proud of her mule-like, hard-headed, sometimes stupid stubborn nature. I wished I'd had the same ability to do what she did, to just take life by the throat and strangle it mercilessly until I got what I wanted. For now, I'd be content on watching my...um...speculative dating interest embarrass this unwitting man.

"Well, little miss, the rules are simple. I'll give you six samples of different sausages and if you can guess each one correctly, you win this gift certificate guaranteeing you six thousand dollars worth of fine Fondi products. Are you ready?" He prompted, and I could sense the faint nervousness in his voice.

"...what do I look like to you, a hippie vegetarian? Of course I'm ready, Rollie, now feed me some meat!" The crowd oohed after Sam's thinly veiled threat. I had to chuckle, then wished I'd brought a video camera - the viewers would absolutely love to see Sam taking advantage of this situation.

"She's ready, folks!" The fat man plunged a fork into one of the unmarked tinfoil pans by his side, and handed a sizable portion of some black looking link to her. She hurriedly plunged the whole thing into her mouth, and chewed slowly, savoring every little morsel with an inquisitive sort of look on her face she usually reserved for selecting ham glaze at the supermarket.

"It's Irish black pudding. Judging by the gamey flavor, I'd say point of origin is County Cork?" Now she was just taking a page out of my book, by offering way more information than the guy needed and being cocky about it. Well, I guess it was her trick, too, as I mentally compiled a list where we'd pulled it on each other.

"That is absolutely correct!" The barker wasn't sweating yet, but I think he was getting the hint. "And most likely a lucky guess! Let's see how our blonde contestant does with sample number two!" He pierced the second selection and gave it to her. She repeated her same questioning process.

"Sundae, a classic Korean sausage made chiefly with pig's blood and potato noodles." She declared confidently. He nodded to the crowd, indicating she had been right. The barker didn't need to tell Sam; she already knew she was right. It continued on like this for three more samples, and each time, the boast of the handlebar mustached fat man got lower and lower. He was being defeated by a girl who wasn't even old enough to buy beer with her bratwurst, never mind have this much knowledge about the sausages of the world. I crossed my arms and leaned against a nearby mailbox, not only proud of Sam but impressed by the growing number of people captivated by her performance. She had done it; correctly naming off German bockewurst, Spanish morcilla and Ukranian kishka. I, Freddie Benson, was not surprised but still amazed. Sam had one more sample to go and she'd be happier than Gibby without his shirt on.

"All right you little menace," The fat man spat into the microphone, not caring if he offended Sam or anyone in a mile radius, "here's your last challenge. Good luck, brat." He begrudingly gave her the final sausage sample, keeping a strong grip on it. Sam yanked it away from him and chomped down on it hungrily. I thought of back to some of the stuff she'd ate already; I hope she has a cast iron stomach, because I am not looking forward to see blood sausage come b- enough, Fredward. Sam's got this one, don't be so doubting.

"Get ready, Bow Tie, cuz the great Sam Puckett is about to rob you blind," Sam played it up for the crowd, "this last bit of deliciousness is none other than Turkish sucuk." She ripped off the blindfold. "Now hand over the gift certificate!"

The barker threw the envelope at Sam and stormed off the stage, and the crowd cheered for their sausage tasting champion. I clapped politely, and she came bounding down to meet me, throwing her arms around me without reservation and, for the second time in a week, catching me completely off guard.

"Did you see me?" She bragged, with the excited nature of a little kid, "Did you see me stick it that big, fat moron? Woo-hoo, Momma's won six thousand dollars worth of fine Fondi foods! Momma's set for the next five months!"

I raised a concerned eyebrow. "You're going to spend six thousand dollars on sausage and cured meats in five months? Don't you think you should pace yourself?"

"Oh, you nub, if I paced myself," She got right in my face, until our lips were just about touching, "then you wouldn't be having the pleasure of my awesome company at this very moment and I wouldn't be knee deep in the what could be the greatest contest I've ever won in my entire life." Sam pulled away sharply, and I immediately resumed following her through the crowds, people congratulating her at almost every turn.

Then, to my surprise, she stopped dead in her track, her gaze fixed on something dead ahead.

"Sam? Something wrong?" I caught up to her, trying to see exactly what it was she was staring at.

Silence from the girl, and I finally figured out she was staring at an Italian sausage cart about twenty or so paces ahead of us. Ah, so it was the magic of Sam's stomach; she had a taste of some of the world's most unique cured meats and now wanted something closer to home. I patted her on the shoulder, reaching into my pocket.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of this one," I glanced in my wallet, "do you want peppers and onions or jus-"

Before I could finish my question, Sam stormed right past me, breaking into almost a full sprint to the sausage cart. Aw, crumb cake! That wasn't hunger burning in those blue embers in her eyes; it was pure, unadulterated Sam rage. I did the best I could to catch up, but by the time I got to the same corner, she was grabbed the cart by its bottom wheels and flipped it over the sidewalk,then grabbed the cart's umbrella and began smashing it repeatedly into the cart, as the sausages and condiments spilled out onto the street. The vendor himself, a heavyset, balding man, had fallen right on his butt and was watching in a mixed expression of horror and reverence.

"Sam! SAM!" I grabbed her shoulder, halting the wanton destruction. I spun her to face me, but she immediately turned her back, not wanting to even look at me. "What the heck is the meaning of this? Are you out of your chiz or what?"

The vendor stood up, brushed himself off, and stared at Sam. He crouched down a bit so he could have a look at her, face to face.

"Hi, Samantha."

She bit her lip, doing her best to contain whatever was left of her tantrum.

"Hi, Dad."


	7. iHate That Guy

_**Disclaimer: I do not own iCarly, nor the reference to the movie Anaconda or that bit I stole from the Simpsons included herein. I am, however, now a member of the Bickering Sidekicks forum. Also, check out cali-chan's newest Seddie-slanted fic, Best For You. Similarly, please excuse me for stealing a real life person's story of winning the lottery in New Hampshire. Well, at least some of it. Lastly, how many more months until the flippin sequel to iOMG? Wait, here's the real lastly: Emily, I will resume writing Trinity Blood fanfiction soon. No no no, wait, here it is: I am a meticulous planner about writing stories. This one is coming off the seat of my pants. Rock on, you Mighty Seddie Warriors!**_

**iHate That Guy  
>By: James Austin Valiant <strong>

"So...that's your dad?"

"Mmm-hmm."

I shifted back and forth on my feet, trying to decide whether or not to make a break for it. It was all I could to not look at my long lost pops, who had been gone from my life for a nice, sweet ten years. And if I could convince this somewhat cute dorkus malorkus to swiftly follow me away from the scene of the crime, then maybe another ten years of Dad-free bliss would ensue. After a brief stare down, Dad had retreated to salvage his ruined sausage cart, and I got caught in Benson's shocked gaze.

"Wait, didn't you tell Carly and me that your dad was missing in action while hunting anacondas in the Amazon jungle?" Came the obvious first question.

"What movie was on TV the night that I told you guys that?"

"I think it was Ana-" He stopped suddenly, "Oh. So then what really happened?"

I rolled my eyes and started off in the opposite direction of the nub, but he grabbed my hand and I stopped dead in my tracks. It would have been easy enough to just throw him over my shoulder and find the nearest place to duck and cover in. This was the second time he'd grabbed my hand today, and as much as I wanted to slap it away, or throw out an insult, I couldn't. A teeny, tiny bit of me had melted, and I lost the urge to run.

"I wasn't a good father is what happened." My dad's voice sounded behind me, and Freddie released my hand so I could turn to face the man.

He looked wayyy different than I remembered. His belly hung disgustingly over his belt buckle, and his face had picked up age lines and wrinkles that were usually reserved for people who abused tanning beds. The Puckett male pattern baldness gene had hit right on cue, but of course, my father had combed the stupid thing over, making him look even dumber than he would've looked normally. Which was pretty dumb.

"How are you, Sammy? How's Mom and Melanie?"

"Like you care." I hoped the daggers that I was shooting at him from my eyes would make him slump away. "...but we've been just fine without you."

"And who's your little friend here?" My dad stuck out his hand towards Freddie, and I regressed the urge to bite it. "I'm Samuel Puckett, but you can call me Sam."

He shook hands. "Fred Benson."

I raised my eyebrows at the nub. _Fred Benson? _Was he trying to grow up quickly of all of the sudden? He wouldn't look at me, instead choosing to keep a strong and confident eye on my father. His shoulders were square, his handshake looked firm, and his voice seemed stronger than I'd ever heard it. Then it dawned on me; he was trying to show strength _for my sake! _I didn't need the help, or the support, but it was most definitely appreciated.

"So..." I traced my foot along the curb, wishing in the worst way my feet were pounding pavement.

"Yup." Dad clicked his tongue, and I hoped he was looking for a way out of this as badly as I was. "How's that Alaska Nebraska doing, hm?"

"Oh God, Dad, that show hasn't been on in years!" I screeched. Number one, my dad was being a blithering moron, and two, for letting Freddork know that I used to watch that dumb show on the Dingo Network. Sure, I rewatched an episode now and then, and it was cute when Milli and Colliver hooked u- snap out of it, Sam! Now Freddie would have all sorts of fodder to come back at me with during our insult wars, and I wasn't looking forward to him dropping that bombshell. "I mean, not that I'd expect you to know anything about anything, since you took off and made a great life for yourself in New Hampshire!"

"Sammy, honey-"

I waved my fist in his face. "Don't you dare call me that. Not after what you did."

Freddie's hand was on my shoulder, but that wasn't going to calm me down. I was ready to start screaming like Lewbert after someone walked on his freshly mopped floor. Freddie could sense this, and his grip on my shoulder reflected that. Maybe it was better to not make a scene here, in this crowded street where there was bound to be more cops than usual to patrol the festival. Even this massive collection of sausages around me wasn't enough to calm me down.

"Come on, Sam, let's just try to ca-"

"You don't understand, Fred," I started, putting an extra emphasis on the D, "this man is a bona fide, certified loser. He used to run a business, used to be head honcho of Puckett Petroleum. But he screwed that up, didn't ya, Dad? Couldn't balance a book to save his life and had to declare bankruptcy..."

"Sam, I think-"

"Oh no, Fredarla, that's not it," I was on a roll, "not only did this idiot lose the family business, but ya know what? Instead of looking for a job after the shop closed, he spent most of his time playing the chizzin' lottery, buying ticket after ticket after ticket. Oh sure, it paid off in the end, because he won one hundred and fifty two million dollars...but then what did he do? Take care of his family? Buy back his company? No, sir, that's not the Samuel Puckett way! He and his old secretary, Jennette, ran off to New Hampshire together so my dad could live out his stupid dream of running a stupid pro wrestling company in stupid New England!"

I spit on the ground, all lady-like and scowled at my dad, the big disgusting jerkwad who just stood there, running a hand through what was left of his hair.

"Well, that doesn't make any sense," Freddie said, scratching his head. "Why would a millionaire need to sell sausages on the corner?"

My dad chuckled. I wanted to hurl.

"Well, Fred, millionaires don't stay millionaires when their ex-wives clean them out. Jennette decided she'd had enough of my pro wrestling expenditures and filed for divorce. Lost everything." Dad sighed dejectedly.

For the first time since seeing his ugly face, I smiled. "Doesn't it just suck to lose, Dad?"

"Samantha, come on, I just want to-"

"Say you're sorry? You wanna start all over?" I scoffed. Even if I was pretty close to tears, there was no way I was showing him or the dork that. "Forget it, Pops. You ruined my life, you ruined Mom's life, and Melanie was so torn up she didn't recover until she won that scholarship. So buzz off, creepo."

I knew that would get him, maybe even squeeze a tear or two out of the miserable idiot. But my emotionless robot of a father just stood there, scratching his balding head and giving Freddie and I his trademark heavy sigh. I looked at his face, and felt some of my rage boil away. He looked...well, he looked tired. The worn out look of a man who felt defeated by life, even if he had been a multi-millionaire. He didn't have a wife, or a family who cared about him, or anything really, for that matter. He sighed again, and even though I really, really didn't want to, I felt a little bit of pity for the man.

"Samantha, I don't want to say I'm sorry or anything mushy or dumb like that. I...I just never thought, with everything that's happened and all, that I'd never see you again. So, it was, uh...it was good to see you again." He turned away from us, and wheeled his busted sausage cart down the sidewalk, disappearing among the throngs of people.

"So...that's your dad?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"I don't think I like him."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Ya wanna get a wienerschnitzel and a funnel cake?"

"Mmm-hmm."

The dork started to walk off, and I grabbed his hand. He looked at me, a little surprised, but I pretended not to notice. A surge of energy passed through me, probably from trying to bring down all the rage that been flowing through me just a few minutes ago. Freddie shivered a bit, feeling the intensity pass to him from me. He let go of my hand, wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me in close to him. We walked like this to the wienerschnitzel stand, and I did my best to resist the urge to give him a flat tire.


	8. iM In My Own Class

**_Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly, but I am writing a script for an episode. I'm torn between making it into a fanfiction and hiring an agent to pitch it to Nickelodeon. I realize that the last chapter wasn't particularly funny, and I apologize. iCarly, as we learned from iSAFW, is more about comedy than who's dating who. I've attempted to inject some humor into this chapter with my second favorite iCarly character (Gibby), and I've brought Carly back for a chapter, as well as everyone's favorite fudge-making fool, Brad. If you're looking for Freddie and Sam, well, they're not in this chapter. So go read Mizufae's story Point & Click. If you read, please review. If there wasn't such a massive outpouring of support for this ditty, I never would be on...CHAPTER EIGHT? GAHHH! Rock on, you Mighty Seddie Warriors! Only a few more months until we put that final nail in the Creddie Coffin!_**

**iM In My Own Class  
>By: James Austin Valiant <strong>

"Hey Carly, did you get the notes on genetically modified foods?"

I turned around quickly and came face to face with a spandex-clad Gibby. It was kind of a step up from the usual shirtlessness we had become accustomed to. Apparently, Coach Trainor had told Gibby he was to suit up on practice days, but while the rest of the Ridgeway wrestling team merely wore their warm-ups, Gibby took it to the next level by wearing his wrestling singlet. And just his wrestling singlet. Part of me admired his school spirit, while the other, more rational part of me shuddered.

"Yeah, Gib, but I'm gonna type up them up in next period's study, so I'll e-mail you a copy?" I scrolled through my Pear Phone contacts. "Are you still shirtless wonder at z mail?"

"You know it," Gibby followed me as I walked to my locker. I needed to swap out and grab my history book; Mr. Devlin had assigned an insane amount of reading on the Seven Years' War and I wanted to be prepared. "So how's wrestling going?"

"Pretty good. Coach says if I keep up my training and dedication, then I'll be undefeated in my weight class for the rest of the semester."

"Sounds pretty awesome," I paused for a minute. "How many other guy are in your weight class, Gibby?"

"Just me."

"So how many matches have you won?"

"None. There's no one who competes in my weight class, so I automatically rank first in the district records."

"So how do you- nevermind."

I shook my head, then smiled to myself. Grabbing my history book, it dawned on me that I hadn't heard from Sam or Freddie since I watched them disappear in that yellow carriage of love. That meant that, hopefully, things were going well. I couldn't imagine Sam would be a mountain of trouble at an international sausage and cased meat extravaganza. Sam had been talking about the event for a few months, and I knew the streets full of delectable meat might be enough to tame that wild side and make their first date less like a roller coaster and more like the tea cup ride.

"Hey Carly!"

I spun around to see our intern, Brad, leaning against Sam's locker. He was dressed casually, in one of the brand new 'Foreign Bacon' Penny -Ts and a worn-in pair of khakis, and looked incredibly relaxed. I glanced quickly back at Gibby, who was striking poses in the mirror of my locker. Between Sam's aggressiveness, Freddie's neurotic nature (he'd inherited it from his mother, whether he admitted it or not), and Gibby's...Gibbiness, Brad's sense of normalcy would be a nice balance to the iCarly team.

"Oh hi, Brad, what's up?"

He held up a flash drive. "Not much, just banged out some of the lower thirds Freddie and I were talking about doing for the next iCarly. Is he around? I didn't seem him in chemistry."

"No, he and Sam are in Port Townsend at a sausage festival." I explained.

"That's cute," Brad smiled, tucking the flash drive back in his pocket. "Those two are pretty awesome together. How have they been dating, about a year or so?"

I raised an eyebrow. "A year? No, today was their first date."

It was Brad's turn to look confused. "Are you sure? I mean, they just seemed so couple-ly the way they bicker, and she's always physical with him...when they shared the same bucket of popcorn at the movie last week, she wiped her hands on him and, for some reason, stuck her tongue in his ear."

"Yeah, but that's how they've always been..." I trailed off. Was I really that bad of a friend that I failed to notice Freddie and Sam forming a relationship right in front of my eyes? I had been worried about them leaving me in the dust; maybe I should've been noticing the signals right in front of me and helping them move towards that point sooner. Spencer had seen it, and Brad had seen it, too. Why hadn't I?

"Anyways, what are you doing tomorrow night?" Brad cut into my train of thoughts, and I was grateful. "My mom has been dying to meet some of my new friends from school, and she's really excited about me being a part of iCarly, so I sort of promised I'd invite you over for dinner."

"I'd love to, and after homework, I'm not doing anything tomorrow night."

"Great!" He sure sounded excited. "I'll text you my address later, and you won't be disappointed. My mom makes a killer meatloaf! See ya around, gotta get to Brigg's class."

"See ya!" I closed my locker, snapping Gibby out of his Muscle Beach daydream.

"Come on! I didn't even get to give my peeps a Christmas Tree Pose!"

"Don't you have a class to go, Gibby?"

Gibby looked crestfallen. "Yeah, I guess I do." He shot a glance at Brad as our intern walked up the stairs. "That guy sure works fast, huh?"

I stopped and shot my second confused look of the last ten minutes. "What are you talking about?"

"Uh, call me crazy, but I'm pretty sure you have a date with Brad tomorrow night."

"Ok, Crazy," I scrunched my face a bit, trying to determine if the barely-dressed boy in front of me was lying, "what makes it a date? I'm just going to his house for dinner."

"Yeah, and did you hear that lame excuse? His mom wants to meet his new friends...Sam, Freddie and I are also some of Brad's new friends, not to mention the other guys in the AV Club. But he didn't say anything about inviting them, did he? He said 'I promised I'd invite you over', didn't he?"

"There's...there's a perfectly rational explanation for that!" I stomped my foot.

"And that is?"

"I don't know!"

"While we're on the subject of dates," Gibby continued, "how come Freddie is out with Sam right now, when in the past he's dated both you and Sam's sister and kissed all three of you? I mean, for someone who keeps getting the 'nerd' tag, he sure knows how to play the game himself."

I threw my hands up in the air. "I'm going to study hall!"

Gibby didn't seem to notice I had left, or the lack of people in the hallway period as he continued talking to himself. "And for that matter, how come Freddie's mom never makes a big out of him hanging out with Sam all the time, even though it's quite well-known she's not the safest option in the drawer? Carly...Carly?"

**_A/N: Some of you may be wondering if Gibby can really rank number one in his weight class without actually wrestling. Well, folks, I am currently the number one ranked powerlifter in Massachusetts in my weight class because DING DING no one competes in my weight class. I still have to compete in the meets, but I don't have to worry about losing my title. _**


End file.
